


Divine

by LustInIrony



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Blaire Seven (OC), But that's just Higgs' MO, Death Stranding - Freeform, F/M, For two psychopaths in love, Higgs is a nerd, It's unfortunately Blaire's MO as well, Licking things for fun and profit, Mythology References, Suggestive Themes, Surprise vists, Surprisingly wholesome, There's a small mention of smut, long story short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustInIrony/pseuds/LustInIrony
Summary: Blaire had been busy. So had Higgs. But, she'd never been one to pass up a good opportunity, when presented with one.What's a break between deliveries, after all?
Relationships: Higgs Monaghan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Divine

**Author's Note:**

> This absolute monstrosity was brought to you by a word prompt, and my vague attempts to flesh out Blaire and Higgs' dynamic. Special thanks to @Chiralistic on Tumblr for keeping my ass on track while I screamed my way through it.

Her visit had been unprompted. 

For the most part, at least. Being in the vicinity certainly had something to do with it, in the grand scheme of things. That, and the fact she hadn’t seen him in weeks. 

Though, she wasn’t even certain he’d be at the bunker, given the time of day. The man is capable of traveling anywhere he pleases, on a whim. He could be halfway across the country at this very moment. A million miles away from her.

Or, he could still be here. Confirmed solely by the loud, echoing click of the shelter door being unlocked the minute she passes into the perimeter field. And not even a second later, the distinct crackle of a jump. Hands on her waist. Sweeping her up into his arms. Directly into his chest — absent of his armored vest, and the BB pod — his face buried in her hair. He smells earthy, as always. Like rainwater, dirt, and ozone. Familiar. Homey.

“The hell are you doing here?” He’s got that pitch in his voice, the one that only happens when he’s giddy. The grin on his lips a mile wide, to match — holding her ever closer. _It would seem he missed her too._

“Visiting.” She gestures over her shoulder, to where she parked her trike. The racks, and her pack void of any cargo. 

Higgs seems to notice that fact, too. That giddy pitch replaced with mock hurt. “And you couldn't have brought me my pizza?”

“Pay me,” she taunts, jabbing a finger into his chest. 

“Bridges doesn't?”

“Oh, Bridges does,” she smirks. “But for you? There's an extra charge.”

“And just what would that be?”

She rises up onto the tips of her toes. Wets her lips. Watches his eyes flutter shut in anticipation, when she comes so agonizingly close to kissing him. Only to draw her tongue across his jaw. There is wicked satisfaction to be found in his sharp, startled inhale. In the way he goes absolutely rigid. His eyes squeezed shut as he hisses out a breath through clenched teeth. 

They are pools of azure lust, when she sees them again. A sea of which she would let greedily consume her, in due time. He swallows, rather thickly, nodding back toward his bunker. A faint trace of hope in that deep blue. “Are you, uh... Hm. Are you staying? For the night?”

“I could be persuaded.”

 _Oh._ The smile those few words puts on his face. Gloved hand finding hers quicker than lightning could strike, fingers laced together. Leading her down into the depths of his home.

The inside is a mess, per usual. Papers and open books strewn haphazardly about his desk and the surrounding tabletop, alongside the odd relic. There is cause to wonder just where he gets these things. How he gets them. Through order, theft, or conquest. Though, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't bother her. She’s done similar things, after all. 

She seats herself at the foot of his bed, tugging the laces of her boots open. It's a sweet thing to be free of after such a long day — the humid confines of her porter uniform — piled in a heap on the cement floor. The cool, crisp air of his bunker soothing on her skin. She allows herself to fall back onto the cot, a sigh slipping from her lips. Watching him with lidded eyes while he combs through his many tomes. He finds what he’s looking for, eventually. Made evident by his little, pleased exclamation. 

It’s a hefty looking thing. Bound in worn, brown leather. Tucked under his arm as he pulls his swivel chair out from underneath his desk, right up to the side of his bed. She manages to catch a glimpse of the cover when he sits himself down, and flips the book open. Spread from cover to cover across his lap, to reveal old, yellowing parchment. Something about history, embossed into the leather work in gold. She hasn’t seen this one before. “That’s new.”

“Hm? Oh. It is.” He lifts the book from his lap, presenting the cover to her. What remains of the chipped, gold lettering glimmering in the light. _The History of Ancient Egypt, v2._

She’s read plenty of books. Most of which had been on engineering. Technology. Things that had, in the long run, benefited her tremendously. But very little of it had been for sheer pleasure, like that of which Higgs takes in these books of his. Perhaps… there is more to them than just the bygones of an obsolete era. “Is it interesting?”

Higgs peers up from his page, staring at her incredulously. It's warranted, in her opinion. She’s never asked him about his personal reading. Never once in the handful of times they’d had the luxury to share moments such as these. He’s seems almost unsure that she’s even talking about the book, pointing down at it with a raised brow. Though, the most conformation he requires is a simple nod. “Beyond that, doll,” he smirks, flicking the page back.

She settles on her stomach, elbows resting on the edge of his bed. Far enough forward that she can almost read the ashen text cradled in his lap. “Tell me about it.”

She doesn't have to say much more than that before he spins around, the back of his chair pressed into the cot. He seems… excited, that she asked; studying her face with bright eyes. “Did you know that the ancient Egyptians believed in life after death?” 

Vaguely, yes, and that would be the extent of her knowledge on the subject. She shakes her head.

“They would preserve the bodies of the deceased — called it ‘mummification’ — so that the soul could reunite with it in the afterlife.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. And it kept them in damn near perfect condition. Look!” Higgs lifts the book from his lap, holding it in his hand as he skims back through pages. Until he finds exactly what it is he’s looking for. The tip of his finger pressed to the paper just below the picture of an, indeed, near perfect looking corpse. 

Well that’s… _definitely_ something. Her nose crinkles at the sight, her lips drawn back in a grimace. 

Higgs barks out a laugh, and snaps the book shut. Dropping it into his lap as he sinks back into his chair. “They’d remove all the organs, dry them out, and place them in jars. Then they’d prepare the body itself with a series of oils and wines. Sometimes they’d even colour them with gold resin, to protect them from bugs and bacteria.”

“Huh. Fancy.”

“It was. They didn’t do it to just anyone. The practice was based on the belief that the divines had flesh of gold, after all.” He grows quite, at that. His hand rising from the cover of his book, to her ebony hair; wrapping those glistening strands of gold around his finger. Those azure eyes of his brimming with adoration. “Like what you have in your hair.”

_Oh, he really just pulled that, didn’t he?_

She draws her lip between her teeth. “Higgs?”

“Mm?” He mumbles, twisting those silken, gold strands between his fingertips. 

“Stop doing that.”

He listens, surprisingly enough — staring at her in confusion. “Stop doing what?”

She props herself up on her knees. Her lips precariously close to his ear, as she whispers to him. “Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you.” She brushes them against the shell of his ear, beyond amused with the husky exhale a little nibble earns her. “Or worse…”

That’s all it takes to get him on his feet. One small, lingering promise of something more. His hands are on her waist, snaking under the hem of her shirt. Right up to her breasts; massaging them with rough, calloused fingertips. “Or worse?” He breaths, strained and warm against the side of her neck.

“Or worse,” she purrs, her hands tangled in his chocolate hair; carving through his short, tousled locks with ease. Then, she pulls. His neck bared to her. Exposed to her cruel mercy, as she draws her tongue up the length of his throat. “I might make you treat me like the ‘divine’ I am.”


End file.
